


Winter Wonderland

by wrote_and_writ



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:52:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ/pseuds/wrote_and_writ
Summary: From a tumblr prompt, a request for a snowball fight.Or, I want these kids to have a little bit of childhood left.(Also, not beta'd)





	Winter Wonderland

“Harry, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Which is precisely why we’re going to do it, Hermione,” Harry replied. “We’ve been cooped up here for two days. People are going a bit mad. I think Ron might actually murder Neville if something doesn’t happen, and quick.”

“Yes, but a snowball fight? That sounds dangerous.”

“Which is why we’ll have rules. Come on, Hermione. We need to get outside.” Harry gave Hermione his best, big-eyed Disney princess look, because she was the only one he knew who could be affected by them. Everyone else thought he had something in his eye.

“Don’t you Bambi me, Harry.”

“Ooh, yeah! That’s good! My mum’s dead! I was thinking the look Ariel gave Sebastian, but let’s go with Bambi!”

“Harry James Potter, you are the most--”

“We’ll need signs for the rules. Big ones. Posters. With bubble letters. And sparkles.”

“Sparkles?” Hermione softened, and Harry seized the chance.

“Hermione, you can help me come up with the rules and make big, sparkly posters. I’ll put them up tonight, and when everyone wakes up tomorrow, they’ll see the signs. It will be amazing!”

“I don’t know, Harry.”

Harry put his hands on Hermione’s shoulders. “This is the sort of thing we’re supposed to do when we’re kids, Hermione. Think about it. Snow forts. Snow angels. Snow...snow! Please? We have so few solidly good memories of the last few years. We need this.”

Hermione’s stern look fell away. She did want some good memories of school, like in films. And she did love to make a good poster. And rules. Beautiful rules.

“Alright,” she said, “where shall we start?”

*

The Great Hall was abuzz with unusual high energy for a Saturday morning. Hermione and Harry exchanged satisfied glances as they walked with Ron, Luna, and Neville to breakfast. 

“What did you do?” Ron asked. 

“Us? Whatever do you mean?” Hermione said sweetly.

Ron rolled his eyes, but he didn’t press for details. He knew he’d be drawn into whatever shenanigans they’d planned whether he wanted to or not. He hoped he’d at least get a hot breakfast in him before the shenanigans began.

Students huddled in excited groups along the wall, and Ron caught snatches of conversation as they made their way to their table. 

“--can’t believe it!”

“--call Parvati.”

“--no fair!”

“--calidum lana? I reckon that’d work.”

“What did you do?” Ron asked again.

“Oh!” Luna noticed the poster behind the table. “A snowball fight. What fun!”

Ron turned to Harry and Hermione. “Are you insane? It’s well below freezing out.”

Harry shrugged. “You don’t have to participate, Ron. I’m sure you can find some way to spend your afternoon.”

Ron grimaced and sat down. He needed to prepare. He helped himself to a huge bowl of porridge liberally sprinkled with brown sugar and cinnamon. It was a good start. 

The rules, bold and sparkling on the posters, were these: Students gathered on the Quidditch pitch had one hour, starting at noon, to build forts, form teams of no more than eight students, stockpile snowballs, bespell winter clothing to keep warm and dry, fill thermoses with tea and hot chocolate, and make whatever preparations they deemed necessary. Then, at one o’clock precisely, the fun would begin. NO MAGIC would be allowed during the actual fight. You used your hands and that was it. Good clean fun. 

Hermione had had a brainwave as they made posters late the night before and had enlisted McGonagall’s aid. She and Madame Pomfrey agreed to set up a small pavilion in which students could warm themselves if their spells wore off. Madame Hooch agreed to circle the fight on her broom to ensure no one cheated and used magic during the fight. And Professor Sprout agreed to hold on to participants’ wands in the greenhouse. 

The only other magic was laid down by McGonagall herself. She bespelled the area around the Quidditch pitch to keep score. Each hit in the torso was worth five points, arms and legs worth two points, and a team lost five points if they hit another student in the head with a snowball. It was supposed to be fun, after all. 

The fight would last one hour, and at the end, the team with the most points would sit at the head table for the evening meal and would be allowed an extra Saturday in Hogsmeade before Christmas. 

Ron, Harry, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Ginny formed a team. They talked strategy in hushed tones throughout breakfast. Harry caught Draco looking their way with an unsettlingly intense look several times, but he forgot about it as Ron drew him back into the planning. 

The sun was bright and the Quidditch pitch sparkled with crystalline snow as the teams put together their forts and made their preparations. Many had makeshift team flags, and the feeling of joy permeated the field. It had been a long autumn, returning to school after the war, and joy had been in short supply. Harry felt giddy, almost drunk with happiness as he gathered with his friends to simply play a game. 

A shower of rainbow sparks from Madame Hooch’s wand signaled the beginning of the fight. Harry gave a whoop of joy, scooped up an armful of snowballs, and headed into the fray. 

As the fight wore on, Harry found himself backed into a corner by a team of Hufflepuff and Slytherin second years, children who had once been so in awe of him they tripped over themselves in the halls when they saw him. Seeing him out in the snow, playing, made him just a boy, and a target. Harry couldn’t really be mad, but he was a little chagrined that they had gotten the better of him for the last ten minutes. He made note of a short, plump, dark-skinned girl with an unerring aim -- he’d need to get her on one of the intramural quidditch teams as a chaser -- and made a desperate dash to the safety of a pile of snow beside the Slytherin section of the stands.

And crashed headlong into Draco Malfoy. They sprawled on the snow, Draco pinned beneath Harry. 

“Get off, Potter!” Draco shouted. “They’re coming!”

Harry hauled Draco to his feet and pulled him behind one of the wooden legs of the stands as the Slyther-Puffs and a team of Ravenclaw fourth years came at them from both sides.

“Merlin, those kids won’t leave me alone!” Draco panted. 

“Maybe they’ll turn on each other for a bit.”

Draco smiled. His cheeks flushed a vivid rose pink and his eyes shone bright. Harry smiled back at him.

Draco put on a frown then. “I’m a little hurt you didn’t want me on your team, Potter.”

“Well, _Malfoy,_ I wanted to win. You have the arm strength of a six year old.”

Draco bent down, scooped a handful of snow in an elegant motion, and hurled it right at Harry’s chest. “Seems to be good enough.”

“You pratt,” Harry said, grinning. “Did you lure me here to hit me with snowballs and pad your team’s score?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Harry, I let a team of Ravenclaw kiddies chase me to this exact spot, knowing you were being chased by that team of children -- are they even old enough to be at Hogwarts? -- just so I could get you in the stands and throw snow at you. You’ve uncovered my evil plan.” He threw another snowball at Harry, which grazed his arm as Harry tried to dodge away.

“I figured.” He looked over his shoulder. Satisfied that the two teams had turned on each other in lieu of chasing Harry and Draco any more, he tugged Draco’s scarf and pulled Draco in close. “I suppose I’ll lose points for this, but I don’t care.” He kissed Draco hard on the mouth and let him go. “When we win, I’ll bring you something back from Hogsmeade.” 

Draco rolled his eyes again. “When _we_ win, I won’t bring you anything at all. But I’ll meet you at the Shrieking Shack when we’re done.” He kissed Harry swiftly. “Go on. I’ll cover you.”

Harry nodded, and as he turned to rejoin his team, he felt a _thwap_ as snow hit him squarely on the back. He turned back and Draco whistled, his face the picture of innocence. Harry scooped up some snow, but Draco’s whistling had alerted the children, and sixteen eager students turned on him. 

“You’re gonna pay for that, Malfoy,” Harry said, grinning despite himself.

“Looking forward to it,” Draco replied, giving him a jaunty salute before turning to run the opposite direction.

*

In the end, a team of fifth year Muggle-borns, with years of non-magical snowball experience between them, won, but Harry, Draco, and their friends took their rivalry to the Hufflepuff common room for a poker tournament so intense, no one noticed when Harry and Draco slipped out for a private rematch on the pitch.


End file.
